Penny For Your Thoughts
by Shillan Seva
Summary: Anon Tumblr Prompt: Beca's family is poor after father left and mama Mitchell stayed with Beca and her siblings, she is going to some fancy school bc of scholarship, she is trying to help her mother out and collect money for some school trip by playing on the guitar in the park aaaand this is where her future lover(s) from class finds her. (Mitchsen or Triple Treble-Undecided)


A/N: So as of right now, this is completely unedited because I wanted to get it published and out there. I'll probably come back sometime in the next week and edit it, but for now this is what I've got. I got hella distracted in the middle of writing it so it's not completely consistent which is what I want to edit anyway.

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Music had an amazing way of fixing everything for Beca Mitchell. Well maybe not everything. She wasn't naive. But it at least it helped her pretend. And she needed that sometimes—a lot of times if the callouses on her fingers were anything to go by. Plucking at the steel strings of her father's old Stella guitar made all her worries melt away, and she could feel her voice speaking through the gentle thrum of the strings. It wouldn't make her dad come back. It wouldn't get her mother a better job or pay for her sister's medication, but it was her release, and her world didn't feel quite so dark with the weight of her guitar in her hands.

She never expected her playing to lead to anything else. Sure, she would stop off at Central Park every couple of days and play for whatever coins people would toss her way, but she never expected to be recruited, especially not by the recruiters from Park Edge Preparatory for the Fine Arts.

Park Edge was one of the largest magnet schools in the city. They had thousands of applicants every year and if you weren't a part of their program by the time you were eleven, there was almost no way to get into the school which meant it mostly accepted of trust fund babies from the Upper East Side—definitely never a poor kid from the Bronx.

She had been playing near the 81st street station next to the Museum of Natural History on a Saturday afternoon in June when she was approached by very stern, blonde woman in a navy-blue pants suit. She was tall. At least a full foot taller than fifteen-year-old Beca who had already reached her peak height of 5'2. Beca had thought she was about to get cursed out by the woman when she first approached. She was all angles—strong, bony nose, a mouth set in a grim line that didn't look like it even knew how to smile, and cheek bones that would have given Angelina Jolie a run for her money. The woman didn't say anything at first, just whipped a card out of her jacket and pushed it into Beca's face. Beca had been forced to take a step back from the proximity, but the woman didn't back down until Beca's small hand shakily gripped the card and took it.

It read Angela Parry, Recruitment Office, Park Edge Preparatory for the Fine Arts, and a few phone numbers listed at the bottom. Angela nodded and stretched her hand out which Beca took after a moment.

"Angela Parry," she said with a strong Brooklyn accent and continued to introduce herself before asking Beca's name.

"Um, Beca Mitchell," she replied. Shifting her weight slightly and tugging her guitar strap around to hang the instrument from her back.

"You have a voice, Mitchell," she said bluntly. Beca furrowed her eyebrows. "And your guitar playing is decent too, do you have any other talents?"

"Well, I play flute, kind of, and piano. And I write?" Beca responded. Angela only nodded. This woman was intense. Her compliments didn't really sound like compliments. It sounded more like she was giving Beca permission to exist because she didn't completely suck.

"How are your grades?"

"Mostly B's, a few A's," Beca replied quickly. The woman's eyes were piercing as she thought for a second.

After a succinct nod, she continued, "Have a parent send me a copy of your transcripts and we'll discuss setting you up at Park Edge."

Beca was wide-eyed as Angela shook Beca's hand once again and walked off, the clack of her heels causing Beca to blink after her. It took a moment to realize what had just happened before she tossed her guitar in its case and sprinted after the woman. She finally caught up to her about half a block later, and grabbed her arm. The daggers she received from the woman were enough to make her drop the Angela's arm like it had burned her, but then Angela raised an eyebrow at her.

"Wh-what are you talking about?" Beca asked. She didn't dare to hope that she understood the woman, but she needed to hear it herself.

"I want you at Park Edge," Angela said as if it explained away every question Beca could have.

"But I can't afford that school," Beca responded. "And that's like an hour on the train."

"We'll give you a scholarship," she said as if it was the most obvious solution in the world.

"You can just do that?" Beca asked.

"Of course not," Angela said. "You'll have to audition and prove you can handle the schoolwork, but as long as you can prove not to be a drain on the school, I don't foresee any problems."

"That's it?" Beca asked suddenly feeling dumbfounded. Her arms hung limply at her side, guitar case thumping against her thigh.

"That's it." Angela said, then pivoted and walked away. Beca almost chased after her again. No way was it that simple right? Who just recruits random teenagers off the streets, gives them multi-thousand-dollar scholarships, and all they need is a transcript?

Beca was right. It didn't turn out to actually be that simple. There were a lot of logistics to figure out. Most importantly, school wasn't in session at the moment meaning there was no administration available to approve a scholarship for Beca, nor was there anyone to witness an audition to make sure she'd be accepted in the first place.

After Beca had told her mother about the strange conversation with Angela Parry, her mother had spent almost three hours on the phone with the woman going over details. It was a private school and had plenty of money so there really wasn't anything to worry about financially as long as Beca could nail the audition. Her mother spent the entire phone call getting reassurances about money and then figuring out what exactly Beca needed to do for the audition and what was expected of her should she be accepted to the school.

It took three weeks before an audition could even be booked because the principal of the school was required to be present for all upperclassmen auditions. Beca prepared herself the best she could. She wasn't classically trained as a musician, and all the arts programs at her school had been cut so she didn't exactly have a teacher, but she did her best to pull together an audition. They were intense. They wanted scales, two contrasting solo pieces no longer than a minute and a half each, sight singing and playing, and specific vocal and instrumental etudes. Apparently, all music majors were required to have vocal and instrumental talent. The vocal aspect was a non-issue, but Beca didn't feel completely competent on any instrument. She eventually decided on use piano for her audition. It didn't feel quite so personal, and she wouldn't be judged on the condition of her guitar.

But despite Beca's pantsuit angel making her dreams come true, Beca still wasn't convinced she even wanted to go to this new school. She would be going into her sophomore year of high school without anyone, everyone would have already found their groups, and most of these kids would have known each other since pre-school. Not only that but Beca hated rich kids. They were always spoiled and arrogant like the world owed them for existing. Beca had no time for those kinds of people. All she wanted to do was be at home to take care of her little sister, Triss. She was eleven-years-old. She didn't exactly need a babysitter anymore, but Beca's mom worked late so they didn't see her as often as they'd like.

It took a lot of convincing. Triss called her an idiot no less than fifteen times for not being excited about the audition.

"Why am I the idiot Triss?" Beca asked, looking to her mini doppelganger. Triss was reading on the couch, feet tucked up underneath her, and glasses perched near the end of her nose. Beca smiled a little as she watched Triss's eyes scan a few lines of her book before she spoke.

"Because." Triss didn't even look up.

"That's not an answer," Beca chided. She plopped down next to the girl, and pulled the book from her hands despite an indignant "hey!" "Why am I an idiot?"

"You think those scholarships just get handed out?" Triss asked. "You're going to get to go to one of those cool music schools like you see on tv and you don't wanna go? Why? Cause I need a baby sitter after school. That's dumb Beca."

"Well someone has to keep you out of trouble," Beca laughed and ruffled Triss's hair.

"And someone has to keep you from being dumb," Triss said. She climbed over Beca to grab at her book but Beca held it just inches out of reach. Triss's light blue eyes narrowed and Beca let out an embarrassing squeak as Triss started to poke at Beca's side. They wrestled on the couch for several minutes before Beca felt too winded to fight off her sister's onslaught of tickles and she wheezed a breathy "uncle" before handing the book over to Triss.

"Don't look too smug," Beca said, emphasizing her words with a poke to the ribs. "I know where you sleep dweeb."

"Yeah, six feet away from you. You'd be, like, the first person they arrested if I went missing," Triss responded flipping her book back open, settling against the arm of the couch and flinging her legs over Beca's lap.

She still wasn't convinced, but she went to the audition anyway. She was nervous as hell—never being one for the center of attention, but she nailed the audition and they offered her the spot and scholarship later that night. She took a few days to answer them, but eventually came to realize, she was never going to get an opportunity like this again. She wanted out of the Bronx. She wanted more out of life than a crappy food service job, because there was no way she could afford college.

School at Park Edge was going to be intense. Two days after she accepted the scholarship, a student handbook and a box of uniforms came in the mail. Beca thought the uniform looked ridiculous, but at least it included pants so she wasn't forced to wear the plaid, pleated skirt. The handbook was two inches thick though. It included everything from grading to attendance to dress code to extracurriculars. Apparently, on top of a mandatory 3.0 GPA, all students were required to take part in at least one after school activity, of which, they had seventy-six; sports, debate, musical groups, theatre, writing clubs, science clubs, math teams, Beca was a little dizzy from the prospects. They even had a gaming club.

Despite the school having "fine arts" in the title. It turned out to be dedicated to the entire class of subjects. They could declare a major and take specific classes pertaining to that major. Each major fell under one of four broad subjects: math, science, humanities, or fine arts.

For Beca, it was a no brainer that her major would be in fine arts, but she couldn't decide between performance or, the increasingly intriguing, composition. She had never written her own music before, but she would have been lying if she said it wasn't something she thought about—a lot.

Both programs were very similar. They would have to take generals in math, science, language, and history, but then they would get to choose electives that pertained more toward their major as well as take lessons from a private instructor in either vocal or instrumental music. The composition majors would get additional lessons in composition.

The longer Beca looked at the classes list, the more overwhelmed she became. She began to wonder how many students actually went to this school if they could offer nearly as many classes as a small college. Then she took a look at the campus map and realize she wasn't actually that far off. The school was set up exactly like a college.

The closer the first day of school got, the more nervous Beca felt. She really didn't know what to expect. She was used to a school with cheap linoleum and metal detectors, torn and worn textbooks, and lunches that were barely edible. If the amount of her scholarship was any indication, the lunches at Park Edge were probably five courses, and that was intimidating as hell. Her mom was convinced that a new school meant all new shoes and a new backpack. Things Beca knew they couldn't actually afford, but her mother couldn't be convinced otherwise.

A week later as she stood in front of a giant stone, gargoyled building, Beca was thankful her mother had insisted. Students walked around her as she stared up at intimidating figure it posed ahead of her. She felt her heart rate accelerating as she realized what exactly she got herself into. Beca shut her eyes for several moments and took a deep breath before her characteristic, apathetic smirk slid into place, and she walked into the office.


End file.
